


Nevermore

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Insanity, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-12
Updated: 2003-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes fairy tales don't have happy endings. Sometimes the prince goes crazy and everyone dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nevermore

There are three hundred sixty-eight scratch marks on the inner wall of the piece of metal you call home. Outside the wind wails and cries, blowing snow and grit all around. Outside, JC screams with it, high screeching sounds that make your skin crawl and your gut twist in anguish, because that's how JC sings now. Wordless, tuneless, sharp and jagged, nothing but sound pouring out of him.  It flays you, body and soul, if you get too close. You keep your distance when he sings, these days.

You keep your distance most of the time, anyway, because when his eyes go bright, sharply focused, the madness has control and he sees without seeing, a blind man with eyes turned inward.

You trace the fingertips of your left hand over the scratch marks and wish it weren't blowing so hard outside. You'd like to go out; you've stayed in all morning while it snowed, and you're desperate for fresh air, for something without the stink and stench of death, of decay.

JC's howling stutters, then stops, then begins again. You shudder and hunch in on yourself; wish he'd stop for good. You know he won't; he remembers, now; woke you up one night to talk to you, to ask you, after weeks without words.

"We used to sing, right, Chris? We sang all the time…I remember that. I remember singing. Will you sing with me?"

You hum something under your breath now, before you realize you're trying to put a tune to something that doesn't have one, then wish for earplugs to drown out both sounds. Your eardrums feel raw, scoured completely from the constant noise.

You feel raw. You've felt raw for over a year, now.

~~~~~

"Everyone goes away, Chris. Lance, Joey, Justin…you."

The soft words jerk you out of your fitful doze. JC's eyes burn at you, sharp, too-bright. You swallow roughly and nod, not sure what to say. You've known for a while – suspected, anyway, since Justin disappeared – that it might come to this.  You'd hoped maybe you'd be wrong; after all, you don't know for sure…have only suspicion and supposition to go on. You'd hoped for longer to stay—with him. Even if he scares you, even if you're mostly alone now, when he's lost inside his head.

"I'll be all alone." His voice sounds rough, hoarse, too many hours spent screaming into the wind, shouting sounds at the clouds and stars and the empty, blue-gray sky. He drops to his knees in front of you, reaches out and touches your face, strokes over your ragged beard, the greasy strands of your hair. His eyes are cloudy again, dimmed with sanity, but his grin is bright; bright enough to break your heart. "Love you, man."

You wonder if he'll miss you at all. You miss the idea of being with him already, but you're so tired, too. Tired of the madness, of feeling raw, of the endless, ceaseless noise.  He kisses your forehead and you sigh. "Love you too, C."

You cry, just a little, when he curls up against you, his head resting on your lap.

"Sing to me?" He asks softly, the words pressing warmth against your aching legs.

You sing around the ache in your chest, words slipping from your lips, dark with pain, wet with tears.

~~~~~

Lance was the one sitting beside you when the plane bucked, when the smooth non-sensation of moving through the air became horrible, dizzy, crazy bumping and rocking and falling. You remember grabbing him, closing your eyes as your stomach dropped, then climbed into your throat.

You remember the freefall, but only as a series of bump-drop-heave-bump-drop-heaves. The crash itself, blessedly, is a blank spot in your memory.

You held Lance's hand, later, while his eyes bled tears; when each breath made red leak from the corners of his mouth. His lips shone in the firelight and you could almost close your eyes and pretend it was gloss for a photo shoot, not the dark, slick color of blood.

Almost.

Your legs – knee joints already screwed up, plus one leg fractured and haphazardly set later – still ache, desperately some days. You wonder if you're not a little mad yourself, driven insane from pain and noise and watching your friends die.

Helping them die.

~~~~~

His eyes burned, but not like JC's burn now. It was the burn of pain, of fever, of things you couldn't fix, weren't going to be able to fix. You hated the helplessness tearing through you when he cried, when he cried out, unable to breathe for the pain and pressure on his chest.

You hated that he asked _you_. Quietly. Softly. Voice choked and rough with pain, the words drowning in his throat. You made Joey and Justin take JC outside after they said goodbye; it was then you first noticed JC's eyes brighthot, shimmering. You didn't understand yet what it meant. They were normal eyes when they came back inside. Sad, grieving eyes.

"You did it." JC blinked at you, at your clenched fists. Behind you, Justin and Joey clung to each other, taking comfort in each other, trying to keep calm. Have to be calm, can't freak out. Maintain, until death comes for you. "You really did it, Chris."

You still feel the snap against the palms of your hands, against your fingertips. Feel the surge Lance made just before—and the adrenaline that pumped through you afterward, before your freak-out began.

Your right hand is a ruined reminder of afterward, when you slammed it over and over into the side of the plane, reveling in your own bones breaking, until Joey pulled you away and held you while you cried.

~~~~~

"The sky bled today." JC whispers the words into your lap, pulling you awake again. You dozed off while singing, fingers stroking the rough curls that tumble wildly around his face.  He's feverhot against you, but not feverish. Just—JC. His body burns twice as hot as yours, all the time.  "I watched it…it was pretty. Blue into blood…blue blood. Can blood be blue? I used to think that was just a saying, but I saw it."

The sky cleared for sunset, then. Or possibly sunrise; it's hard to say for sure which it was, because you didn't go out there. Knowing JC, he was out there at daybreak; he spends more time than not outside, prowling around, talking to himself. Talking to the skeletons, and the ghosts who cloud his head.

When he's lost inside his head, JC is far from alone, far from lonely; you suspect that's what makes his infrequent trips back to sanity and reality so few, so far between. Here, in this reality, he's lost. Lost with you. Inside his head, inside the madness that keeps him, he's home, surrounded by friends, by people who love him.

"It was so very nice," he continues, voice soft and dreamy. He squirms against you until his head is resting so he can look up at you, his hand slipped into yours. You can't feel the touch, other than weight, but it's nice. His eyes are dim, soft, liquid in the near-darkness. "I remember sunsets over the water at home, Chris."

You remember them, too. Distantly, you remember a sun that shone without the wind blowing constantly, without stinging snow blinding you, without being cold all the time.

"Do you think Lance remembers the sunsets?"

You blink fast, hard, ignore the madness you hear still lurking in his voice. Even like this, lucid and lost in memory, insanity is never far away. You think it must wait in the corners of JC's mind, waiting until he's happy and content, before jumping out to ambush him.

"I'm sure he does, C. He loved 'em, too, baby." Lance loved more than just the sunsets; he loved sitting with JC – and you – on the beach, toes dug into the sand, just far enough back that the water could do nothing more than tickle at him, talking about this or that, just relaxing, watching the way the color faded, spread out, seemed to be absorbed into the water.

Or maybe that was you, after all.

"I'm gonna ask him." And the quiet moment's gone as quickly as it came, JC rolling to his feet with a bright flash of blue. You hunch down into the layers of blankets and clothing that make your bed and wait for the tortured screech of metal-on-metal when the door from the fuselage to the cockpit opens and closes.

You wonder how long it'll be before he returns this time.

~~~~~

His hands were filthy, fingernails crusted underneath with black dirt. He didn't seem to notice, just grinned happily at you, eyes fever bright.

The look of horror on Justin's face matched the one on Joey's, and probably yours. You took one step forward, tried to ignore the prickling of goosebumps along your skin. "C? I—"

"Lance didn't like it out there all alone," he said softly, words falling clipped and quick from his lips. "He told me so. He was cold and lonely in that hole."

"JC, he's—Lance is dead," Joey said quietly.

JC didn't say anything else, just looked at Joey…looked in a way that raised the hair on the back of your neck. Joey took a step back away from him, bumped into you.

"C—could you." You swallowed, conscious of Joey and Justin beside you, and JC staring at you, his too-bright eyes flickering over your face. "Does. Can you put L-Lance—" you stumbled over his name and determinedly didn't look at the bundle laying beside JC, dirt clinging to the tarp. "Put him. Up. In the cockpit?"

JC tilted his head and looked at you, lips pursed, like he was thinking about it. "Why?" He asked finally. "Why there?"

You cleared your throat and kept your eyes fixed on his; tried to remember how soft the blue looked when he was happy or sad, instead of this fiery blue that seemed passionate but so different. "Lance is—he'll. Smell. He's. The body. It's gonna—"

Your eyes stung, and you tasted blood where you bit your lip, or your tongue, or you cheek – something to refocus, something to shift your focus from what you were talking about.

"Oh. Okay, dude." JC flashed you – all of you – a smile that was too wide, too bright, too—something, then bent and hefted the…hefted Lance with a grunt. You watched him disappear into the cockpit.

He didn't come back out for two days.

~~~~~

"The wind…it talks in riddles." JC's voice is right near your ear, low and sleepy, and you jerk upright, wondering how you missed the screech of the metal door.

"Riddles?" You drag a hand over your face and try to wake up enough to process JC's words.

"It sings songs to me, and tries to tell me lies." He snuggles down beside you, spooning back against your body. You resist pulling him closer for a moment, then give in, tucking your body around his as best you can. He's icy cold where bare skin peeps out, and the scent of death clings faintly to his hair.  You wonder how long he was in there—if it's morning or night or somewhere in between. You rest your face against his neck, breathe in the scent of JC that hides beneath dirt, and smoke, and decay. When he speaks again, his voice is low, the words echoing through him and into you. "Lance misses sunsets, too. He's sad he can't see them any more."

"Mmmm." His skin warms slowly, leeching heat from you. You don't care. "Are you tired, C? You should sleep."

"If I sleep I can't hear the wind, and it might sing for me." He rocks back against you, humming something tuneless but familiar under his breath. "If I miss the song, I can't sing it for Lance and he'll be sad." He hummed again. "He said to tell you he loves you, and misses you."

"I miss him, too," you say softly, an ache starting in your chest again.

"You'll see him soon." JC nods against you, then relaxes, his breathing evening out. You shudder and press a kiss against the warmth at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and try to relax and find sleep again.

~~~~~

Joey disappeared first.

You remember thinking he'd show up…any time, he'd show up.

The hours crept by, then stretched into days. At first you thought maybe he'd gone for a walk, gone exploring. You'd all done it in the first days…weeks…when you realized you maybe weren't leaving any time soon. If ever.

Well, JC never explored. Not outside. He didn't need to; he was lost inside.

You and Justin searched for Joey for days. Ranged far and wide, getting lost yourself, more than once. Coming home – the word stung like bitter ashes on your tongue – only to set out again, as soon as the sun rose.

JC spent the hours talking to Lance. Shouting whole conversations into the wind.

He dropped to the ground beside you one day, when you were wiping grit out of your eyes, trying to still pretend to yourself that Joe was out there somewhere, maybe somewhere better, if he found a way out of this wilderness.

"I heard Joey's voice."

You blinked and sighed, weary to the bone, sore and aching in ways that had nothing to do with physical. Your soul hurt. You missed your brothers. "C—"

"He talked to Lance last night. I heard him."

You swallowed hard. "He—talked to Lance?"

"Mmhmm." JC closed his eyes, the edges of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Lance isn't so lonely now, Chris." He opened his eyes and feverbright blue burned at you.

It was the warmest day you'd had since crashing, the sun bright and redhot above you.

You'd never felt so cold in all your life.

~~~~~

It could've been weeks or months later that Justin disappeared; you wouldn't know for sure without looking at the scratch marks, which you did, each night, when the sun set.

You just knew he was gone when you rolled over and there was no long, lanky body curled into a ball beside you. You frowned at JC, sitting up against one wall, watching you.

"Where's J?" He shrugged. "Did you hear him leave this morning?" Another shrug. You tried to ignore the way your skin goosebumped at the steady look JC gave you. His eyes were crazy-calm, blue pockets hiding secrets you didn't want to know. "Did you sleep at all?"

"The wind sang to me," he said softly. "But I didn't hear Justin in it."

You knew you weren't going to see Justin again.

Later, you fashioned two crosses out sticks and pieces of cloth and stuck them into the ground just beyond the wreckage. There were five others already there; the pilot and co-pilot, the two bodyguards who'd traveled with you, and the one for Lance. You'd left it, even after JC brought him inside.

JC joined you while you stood there, looking at a bunch of sticks that were all you had of your friends. Your brothers. "Joey was lonely," he said softly. "He told Lance. Lance is inside with us…and he was all alone."

You waited until you were alone to cry.

~~~~~

"Tell me a story, Chris."

He snuffles into your hair, and you wonder when you switched positions. You fell asleep wrapped around him; now he's got arms and legs twined with yours, holding you spooned against him.

"What kind of story?"

"Something with a happy ending." His voice is warm, soft, and you can feel tendrils of breath blowing across the back of your neck, weaving in and out of your hair. Playing peek-a-boo with it. "Something that's warm and happy, with music." His hands slide up and down your stomach and chest, patting you. Petting you.

You shove the rising sense of panic down and relax back. Nothing's going to change what happens next; it's inevitable.

"Please?" He kisses your neck once, and you can hear the soft plea in his voice. He's mistaken contemplation for refusal and you shake your head.

"Gimme a minute, C. I'm thinking. Happy, huh?"

"Yeah." He squeezes you gently. "A fairy tale? But not the Grimm Brothers."

Another squeeze. You take a breath, slow and deep, and let it out. There isn't as much room to breathe in, with the next one. Nor the one after that. You swallow and smile. It's almost time. Almost over. Another, shallower breath.

"Once upon a time, there were five boys who loved music…."

~fin~


End file.
